mes  Ik.  fIDofDtt 


PAULINE  FORE  MOFFITT 
LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
GENERAL  LIBRARY,  BERKELEY 


C->^  , 


MEMORIES   AND   OTHER   VERSES 


Photographed  by  William  Keith. 


MEMORIES 

AND    OTHER    VERSES 


BY 


EDWARD    ROBESON   TAYLOR 


"  Forenoon  and  afternoon  and  night, —  Forenoon, 
And  afternoon,  and  night, —  Forenoon,  and  —  what! 
The  empty  song  repeats  itself.     No  more  ? 
Yea,  that  is  Life  :     make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  Time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  won. ' ' 

Life. — EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 

"I  praise  Thee,  Father,  though  Thou  thrust 
Me  crying  in  the  common  dust, 
Not  as  I  will  but  as  I  must." 

A  Canticle  of  Common  Things. —  ARTHUR  CHRISTOPHER  BENSON. 


ONE  HUNDRED  COPIES  PRINTED  FOR  PRIVATE 
CIRCULATION  AT  SAN  FRANCISCO  IN  THE  MONTH 
OF  DECEMBER  AND  YEAR  NINETEEN  HUNDRED. 


Copyright,  7000, 

*/ 

EDWARD  ROBESON  TAYLOR 


Printed  by  The  Stanley-  Taylor  Company 
San  Francisco 


TO   MY   SONS 
EDWARD    DuWITT  TAYLOR 

AND 
HENRY    HUNTLY   TAYLOR 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

MEMORIES: V*'    ",...  .       i 

The  Master      ...           .f ,     :;.        . _  f,  ,t        .  3 

Memory's  Bells      .......  4 

Visions  .           .           .           .           .           .,.«,..  5 

Memories    .           .           .           .           .           .           ,  .       6 

In  Time  of  May         .           .           .                   ,  ;,.t         -«  ;  7 

With  Memory  as  Steersman         .....  8 

A  Summer  Day            .....           ^  9 

On  a  Walk 10 

In  the  Autumn  Woods            .           .           .           ,.  v      ;«  n 

A  Winter  Day        .           .           .           .           .           .  .12 

To  the  Missouri           .           .           .                   .  /,,'     ..   :  13 

The  Dreams  of  Long  Ago           .           .       ,    ...        ^. ..  .      14 

HELICONIAN  ECHOES:        j          .         V         i,        \  15 

Theseus  and  Ariadne        .           .           .           .          ;*  .  .      17 

Icarus     .           .           .           .       .    ^           .           ^           .  i 8 

Iphigenia     .           .           .           .           ,           .           .  19 

Orestes    .         .           .           .           ..        •.        ',.*'"        .  20 

Circe           .           .           .        -**f       .           ',          v  .      21 

Ulysses  and  Calypso    ....       "*'..**    \  «'  22 

Antigone      ......           .',  .      23 

Orpheus  and  Eurydice            .....  24 

Narcissus     .           .           .                      .          */ ;       .  .25 

IN  MEMORIAM:          ~.          .          ,          .  *  *'•?'•       .  27 

In  Memory  of  Helen  Stanford  Taylor     .          .           .  29 

In  Memory  of  Bruno  Lane  Putzker  .        '  .- ^ '        .           .  47 

In  Memory  of  George  Bonny      .           .           ,  *"      *.  * J  .     48 


IN  MEDITATION: 51 

Scorn  Not  the  Singer         .           .           .        '" .           .  -53 

My  Sonnet  Prison       .           .           .           .           .           .  54 

Edelweiss      .           .           .           .           .           .           •  •     55 

Unaccomplished            .           .           .           .           .  56 

Dante  and  Beatrice            .           .           .           .           .  57 

To  the  Owl  that  alighted  above  the  Picture  of  Athens      .  5  8 

Man's  Heritage      .           .           .           .           .           .  59 

Mystery             .           .           .           ....  60 

Near  Midnight  of  December  3 1 ,  1899             .           .  .61 

Invocation         .           .           .           .           .           .           .  62 

Compensation         .           .           .           .           .           .  63 

Concord             .......  64 

Work  and  Service             .           .           .           .           .  -65 

Consummation             .           .           .           .           .           .  65 

J.  w '     .    65 

Spring    ........  66 

On  the  Rubicon  .  .  .  .  .  .  .66 

The  Axe '.;*  67 

The  Brook 68 

To  William  Keith  on  his  Painting,  on  his  Sixtieth  Birthday, 

a  Picture  entitled  "The  Last  Gleam"  .  .  70 

Suggested  by  Looking  at  a  Picture  Painted  by  William  Keith 

entitled  «« The  Mountain"  .  .  .  .  71 

Suggested  by  Looking  at  a  Picture  Painted  by  William  Keith 

entitled  "Into  the  Mystery  "  .  .  .  .  72 

On  a  Picture  Painted  by  the  Poet,  Lloyd  Mifflin,  entitled  "A 

Quiet  Hour"  .  .  .  .        '   .  .     73 

Vowels  .  .  .  .  .  .  .74 

Artemis        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  •     75 

Golden  Verses  .  .  .  .  .''.•''  76 

To  Shelley .77 

Rudyard  Kipling          .  .  .  .  .  .  77 

At  Edwin  Markham's  Private  Recital      .  .  .  -78 

To  Professor  Mace  wen  .  .  .  .  .  79 

One  of  a  Kind  .  .  *.  "  T  *,  /  - , .  ,  .  .  84 


IN  MEDITATION  — CONTINUED: 

On  Reading  the  Life  of  Henry  George  Written  by  his  Son 

Henry  George,  Jr.    .           .           .  .           «           -85 

Faith       .  .  .  .        '   .       '    *        </.,.*         85 

Passion-Flower        .           .           .           .  .           .86 

Her  Resting  Place        .           .           .  v          i '•         .           87 

The  Voyage           ,.         .;        .           .          r       '  »  .      88 

Despair  Not      .           .           .'         .  .    '     '  ±           .           88 

Voices          .           .           .           *           .  ••         »           .89 

Whither            .           .           .  ;       «.  ,  .          »          .          90 


Memories 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

FREDERICK   THOMAS   KEMPER 


"I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
That  were  most  precious  to  me. ' ' 

Macbeth,  Act  iv,  Scene  3. 

< 

"The  vestal  flame  of  quenchless  memory  burns 
In  my  soul's  sanctuary." 

Love  in  Exile. —  MATHILDE  BLIND. 

What  strength  of  years  those  blossoms  had 
Which  made  my  spring  of  life  so  glad, 
For  in  the  dusty  ways  of  men 
Their  perfume  fills  my  heart  again. 


THE    MASTER 


From  out  his  noble  face  there  looked  an  eye 
Bespeaking  mastery;  —  ah,  I  see  him  now 
With  gathered  thunders  on  his  clouded  brow 
Whence  lightnings  leaped  that  none  would  dare  defy. 

Yet  kind  and  patient  he,  nor  ceased  to  try 

The  veriest  dunce  with  learning  to  endow ; 
But  half-done  work  he  never  would  allow, 
Nor  could  he  compromise  with  any  lie. 

And  he  drank  deep  of  joyance  of  the  play 

That  sent  the  blood  all  tingling  through  the  veins, 
To  drive  the  harassment  of  tasks  away ; 

And  now  his  years  are  done,  there  still  remains 
Such  love  for  what  he  gave  me  of  my  gains, 
It  warms  my  heart  as  though  new-born  to-day. 


MEMORY'S   BELLS 


The  Past's  memorial  troop  insistent  ring 

Within  my  heart  their  deeply-sounding  bells, 
Whose  mournful  tone  in  every  throbbing  tells 
Of  joys  that  evermore  have  taken  wing. 

Yet  'tis  not  sadness  which  alone  they  bring; 
For  as  I  list,  once  more  my  bosom  swells 
With  boyhood's  bounding  sport  in  woods  and  dells, 
Where  rapture's  voices  unrestrained  sing. 

Ah,  where  are  they  who  filled  the  long-drawn  hours 
Of  every  season's  wonderments  with  me 
As  though  life  had  but  happiness  for  sign  ?  .  .  .  . 

The  bells  have  ceased ;  the  sky  of  evening  lowers ; 
The  fruitful  summer  can  no  longer  be, 
And  barren  winter  now  alone  is  mine. 


VISIONS 


Hope  drew  me  on  to  peaks  that  glittered  bright 
With  lovelier  tints  than  rainbows  ever  knew, 
While  round  my  loitering  feet  rare  blossoms  grew, 
Steeped  in  the  glories  of  immatchless  light. 

In  golden  opulence  the  days  were  dight, 

With  every  sky  cloud-free,  save  when  there  flew 
Great  flocks  of  dreams  that  veiled  the  pulsing  blue 
Only  to  thrill  me  with  a  new  delight. 

Ah,  this  was  in  the  days  so  long  ago, 
I  marvel  much  if  it  be  truly  so  — 
Those  immemorial,  passion-hearted  years. 

My  life's  once  blazing  fires  are  burning  low, 

And  in  my  cheeks  regret's  unfathomed  tears 
Have  worn  the  channels  age  alone  can  know. 


MEMORIES 


Here  let  me  put  my  daily  burden  by, 

To  live  one  radiant,  consecrated  hour, 
While  sceptred  Memory  with  divinest  power 
Commands  obedient  visions  for  mine  eye : 

Ah,  what  procession  floats  beneath  my  sky, 

Of  long-evanished  joys  in  spring-time  flower, 
When  boundless  realms  were  youth's  demanded 

dower, 
And  all  its  troubles  but  a  tear  or  sigh ! 

And  she  the  fairest  of  the  ghostly  throng, 
Who  so  entreats  me  with  celestial  gaze, 
Leaps  in  my  heart  and  trembles  in  my  song ; 

O  purple-gloried,  more  than  hallowed  days, 

When  she  and  I  walked  Love's  enrapturing  ways 
She  that  in  Death's  cold  arms  has  lain  so  long ! 


IN    TIME   OF    MAY 


Within  thy  silvern  bars,  oh,  hold  me  fast, 

My  Sonnet; — hold  me  safely,  that  my  dream 
Of  immemorial  blooms  on  men  may  beam 
In  all  thy  artistry  of  splendor  cast. 

To  murmurous  music  of  the  far-off  Past 
Again  I  loiter  by  the  woodland  stream, 
Till  on  its  memory-haunted  banks  I  deem 
Myself  with  joys  in  fairy  legion  massed. 

Once  more  I  seek  the  walnut's  easeful  shade 

To  eat  the  mandrake's  gold-hued  apple  there, 
As  all  the  ravishments  of  May  are  mine ; 

Once  more  with  her  that  in  the  grave  was  laid 
Long,  long  ago,  I  breathe  the  fragrant  air, 
And  pluck  at  her  fond  wish  the  columbine. 


;£& 


WITH   MEMORY   AS   STEERSMAN 


'Tis  memory  steers  me  as  my  boat  drifts  by 

The  banks  with  violets  and  sweet-williams  gay, 
While  far  and  near  with  many  a  carolling  lay 
The  mating  songsters  fill  the  earth  and  sky. 

Here  let  me  stop,  and  'neath  the  elm-tree  lie, 

Where  boyhood's  moments  passed  like  dreams  away, 
And  once  more  watch  the  sun's  expiring  ray 
Light  the  cows  homeward  from  the  pasture  nigh. 

Their  tinkling  bells  die  out  along  the  lane ; 
The  gloaming  slowly  deepens  into  night, 
And  mid  the  darkness  Memory  flies  from  me. 

Would  she  had  longer  stayed ;  but  her  delight 

Has  sweetly  soothed  the  Present's  piercing  pain, 
And  bade  me  hope  for  worthier  days  to  be. 


A   SUMMER   DAY 


What  treasure  trove  the  languorous  summer  hours 
When  all  their  golden  moments  were  our  own ; 
Beneath  some  tree's  soft  shade  to  drowseful  drone, 
And  build  in  Dreamland  fairy-peopled  towers  ! 

The  birds  are  dozing  in  their  leafy  bowers, 
Save  the  woodpecker  that  is  tapping  lone 
Where    dauntless    bumble-bees   make    murmurous 

moan 
Among  the  blossoms  of  the  drooping  flowers. 

The  sun  sinks  down  in  clouds  that  seem  his  pyre  ; 
And  as  the  dusk  is  edging  into  dark, 
And  Hesperus  faintly  trembles  into  fire, 

The  lightning-bug  floats  by,  a  glowing  spark, 

While  then  we  hear  —  ah,  now  I  hear  it  still  — 
The  plaintive  calling  of  the  whippoorwill. 


i         I 


ON   A   WALK 


O  gentle  Dream,  thou  art  full  kind  to  me, 
For  at  the  close  of  this  all-wearying  day 
Within  thine  arms  thou  bearest  me  away 
To  Memory  waiting  'neath  the  mulberry-tree ; 

Where  close  beside  her  let  me  sit  while  she 

Recalls  the  boyhood  feet  that  here  did  stray, 

The  cardinal's  scarlet  glory  and  his  lay 

That  shook  the  blossoms  plundered  by  the  bee. 

And  then  with  her  I'll  wander  o'er  the  hills, 
And  once  again  essay  below  the  milPs 
Great  wheel  to  lure  the  silvery  perch  in  vain ; 

And  as  with  heartening  step  we  stroll  along, 

What  troops  of  stories  will  around  us  throng, 
What  golden  sunshine,  what  delightful  rain ! 


IO 


IN  THE  AUTUMN  WOODS 


I  do  remember  in  the  long  ago 

How  flamed  the  maple  'gainst  the  clouded  sky, 
While  oak  and  hickory  as  with  human  sigh 
Saw  all  the  ground  their  dying  leaves  bestrow. 

Ah,  then  the  violets  could  no  longer  blow, 

And  all  their  shrivelled  stems  the  brook  passed  by 
In  requiem  as  the  quail's  staccato  cry 
Blent  with  the  raucous  cawing  of  the  crow. 

But  though  the  blooms  were  dead,  the  songsters  mute, 
Ours  the  papaw  and  persimmon  fruit 
When  ripening  frost  had  kissed  them  o'er  and  o'er ; 

While  walnuts  from  their  lofty  place  fell  down, 
On  winter  eves  the  jocund  feast  to  crown, 
With  jennetings  all  mellow  to  the  core. 


ii 


A  WINTER  DAY 


The  great  Missouri,  that  when  spring  was  young 
Rolled  by  in  still  increasing,  widening  flow, 
Now  shrinks  beneath  the  ice  where  skaters  go 
Swifter  than  arrow  by  an  Indian  sprung ; 

And  all  the  branches  of  the  trees  are  hung 

With  crystals  sparkling  in  the  sunshine's  glow, 
While  on  the  carpet  of  the  fresh-laid  snow 
Play's  riot  leaps  the  shouting  youths  among. 

Then  down  the  hills  the  loaded  coasters  fly, 

The  air  is  thick  with  balls,  and  wrestlers  try 
For  victory's  palm  contending  breast  to  breast. 

O  marvellous  time,  when  as  the  winter  stormed 
He  boyhood's  bosom  with  his  ices  warmed, 
And  reared  great  palaces  for  bateless  zest. 


TO  THE  MISSOURI 


Imperial  river,  never  would  I  dare 

To  offer  thee  my  insufficient  rhyme, 
But  that  I  do  bethink  me  of  the  time 
So  long  ago,  so  crystallinely  fair, 

When  on  thy  banks  I  sported  free  as  air, 

Plunged  in  thy  tawny  flood  at  summer's  prime, 
And  when  the  bells  of  spring  rang  sweet  in  chime 
Strolled  on  thy  bluffs  for  blooms  enclustered  there. 

I  see  thee  now  when  snow  and  ice  are  gone 
In  grand,  majestic  might  roll  swiftly  on 
By  city,  bluff  and  bottom  to  the  sea ; 

And  I  remember  well  that  swirl  of  thine 

Wherein  black  death  would  quickly  have  been  mine 
Had  not  the  Master  sprang  to  rescue  me. 


THE  DREAMS  OF  LONG  AGO 


These  dreams  of  mine  refuse  to  let  me  go, 

And  hold  me  close  with  such  entreating  face, 
With  such  insistent  fondness  of  embrace, 
That  once  again  I  range  the  Long  Ago ; 

Nor  at  this  moment  would  I  care  to  know 
The  Present's  most  rememberable  grace ; 
My  feet  are  bounding  in  the  woodland  race, 
And  everywhere  Hope's  ringing  trumpets  blow. 

The  boundless  forest  and  its  streams  are  ours, 

Its  luscious  fruits  and  nuts,  its  beauteous  flowers, 
With  trees  that  lift  their  splendors  to  the  sky ; 

While  rare,  melodious  birds  such  strains  prolong 
That  all  the  universe  is  filled  with  song, 
And  nought  that  breathes  seems  ever  born  to  die. 


Heliconian   Echoes 


"And  he  had  spoken  with  dead  chiefs,  a  boy, 
Who,  in  their  boyhood  long  ago,  had  touch*  d 
The  armed  hands  of  heroes,  that  had  warred 
Beneath  Troy  wall,  and  saw  the  temples  fall. 
And  trod  among  the  dust  of  Ilion ; 
And  in  the  courts  of  Hecatompylos ; 
And  heard  the  whispers  of  the  oracles." 

Sappho  and  Alcaus. — FREDERICK  TENNYSON. 


THESEUS  AND  ARIADNE 


Within  the  labyrinth's  depths  the  Minotaur, 
Slain  by  the  sword  she  gave,  lay  dead, 
And  with  his  finger  following  her  thread 
He  issued  forth  to  see  the  heavens  once  more. 

Then  Theseus  swiftly  from  the  hated  shore 
With  Ariadne  on  his  bosom  fled, 
Still  hearing  as  toward  Naxos  on  they  sped 
King  Minos'  cries  above  the  ocean's  roar. 

Deep-nested  in  love's  softest  down  they  lay 

When  she  to  him  :     "  Through  me  alone  thy  way 
To  century-sounding  fame  has  now  been  won ; 

And  yet  I  fear ;  —  Oh,  swear  we  shall  not  part !  " 
"  By  Aphrodite  do  I  swear,  sweetheart !".... 
Then  rose  portentous  cloud  and  hid  the  sun. 


'7 

•f"       '""       -' 


ICARUS 


At  last  the  waxen  wings  were  all  complete. 
Then  spake  wise  Daedalus  unto  his  son, 
Who,  hot  with  pride  that  now  escape  seemed  won, 
Longed  for  his  pinions  to  supremely  beat 

In  loftiest  waves  of  air:  "  My  boy,  most  sweet 
Of  everything  the  Gods  for  me  have  done, 
Bridle  thy  mad  desires,  lest  they  outrun 
Discretion's  course  and  dash  thee  to  defeat." 

On  them  King  Minos  gazed  with  wondering  eye 
As  swift  they  sailed  through  morn's  auroral  sky 
From  him  and  Crete ;  then  smote  his  breast  with 
glee, 

As  upward  soared  vain  Icarus  to  the  sun, 

To  downward,  headlong  plunge,  a  wingless  one, 
Into  the  jaws  of  the  devouring  sea. 


18 


IPHIGENIA 


King  Agamemnon's  fleet  at  Aulis  lay 

In  deadly  calm  ;  no  breath  of  wind  would  blow ; 
For  Artemis  had  changed  from  friend  to  foe 
When  her  most  sacred  stag  she  saw  him  slay. 

Then  Calchas  spake  :  "  The  Gods  have  bade  me  say, 
That  to  this  angered  one  we  must  bestow 
The  virgin  child  of  him  who  wrought  our  woe, 
Or  death  shall  seize  us  and  these  ships  decay." 

From  home  and  friends  they  brought  the  lovely  maid 
To  smoking  altar  where  the  brands  were  laid  — 
A  sight  so  piteous  as  to  stay  the  knife ; 

For  Artemis  to  Tauris  with  her  sped, 

Where  she  as  priestess  gave  Orestes  life 
When  Troy  and  Agamemnon  both  were  dead. 


ORESTES 


When  Agamemnon  on  the  wings  of  Fame 

From  conquered  Troy  to  Clytemnestra  flew, 
She  kissed  his  lips  as  him  jEgisthus  slew  — 
A  pair  of  devils  in  immortal  shame ! 

Orestes  heard,  and  all  his  quivering  frame 

Surged  with  a  wrath  the  Pythoness  so  blew, 
That  with  his  mother's  blood  he  did  imbrue 
The  hand  till  then  snow-white  of  any  blame. 

Whereat  the  snakes  of  torture  round  his  head 
Still  closelier  clung  as  on  and  on  he  fled 
Before  the  vengeful,  fierce  Eumenides ; 

But  when  the  Tauric  Artemis  he  bore 

To  Argos*  land,  Athene's  self  did  seize 

The  raging  Furies,  and  they  scourged  no  more. 


CIRCE 


In  sunless  vale  the  Circean  palace  stood 

A  marble  wonder,  where,  mid  luring  song 

And  drowseful,  fragrant  sweets  men  lingered  long, 

To  drain  their  hearts  and  souls  of  every  good. 

As  wrought  she  at  her  web  in  singing  mood, 
All  unsuspicious  came  Ulysses*  throng, 
Whom,  like  the  rest,  though  bearded  men  and 

strong, 
She  changed  to  beasts  with  bestial  form  endued. 

Then  rose  Troy's  hero  in  tremendous  ire, 

And  scourged  foul  Circe  with  such  words  of  fire 
She  helpless  crouched  within  her  poisonous  den  ; 

And  forth  from  out  the  wallow  of  their  sty 

His  rescued  fellows  came  with  sparkling  eye, 
In  shape  and  soul  once  more  erect  as  men. 


21 


ULYSSES  AND   CALYPSO 


For  that  they  slew  the  cattle  of  the  Sun 

Ulysses1  comrades  sank  to  death  while  he, 
Borne  on  the  billows  of  the  friendly  sea, 
Calypso's  lovely  isle  in  safety  won ; 

Where  filled  with  soothing  rest  his  days  did  run 
To  murmurous  music's  luring  notes  as  she 
Bound  him  in  coils  of  such  captivity, 
That  but  for  Zeus  his  soul  had  been  undone. 

The  God's  command  the  enamored  nymph  obeyed, 
And  helped  the  hero  as  his  raft  he  made, 
The  while  her  heart  o'erflowed  with  parting's  tears. 

His  glimmering  sail  she  watched  till  in  the  sea's 

Great  void  'twas   lost,  then  moaned   because    her 

years 
Were  not  as  mortal  as  Penelope's. 


22 


ANTIGONE 


Most  wretched  of  all  wretched  mortals  he  — 
Self-blinded  CEdipus  —  his  kingdom  fled, 
And  wandered  on  and  on  uncomforted 
Save  by  his  faithful,  fond  Antigone. 

And  when  the  Gods  had  set  his  spirit  free, 

And  she  the  sacred  rites  had  paid,  she  sped 
Again  to  Thebes,  and  to  her  brethren  said : 
"  My  love  is  now  for  you  and  e'er  shall  be ;"  — 

Devotion  vain  ;  for  each  the  other  slew, 
And  Polynices  lay,  still  unentombed, 
For  birds  and  dogs.     Then  did  Antigone 

Give  his  poor,  outcast  body  burial  due, 

To  be  herself  by  devilish  hands  inhumed 
And  'neath  the  clods  to  die  in  agony. 


ORPHEUS  AND    EURYDICE 


When  from  his  arms  Death  snatched  Eurydice, 

On  earth  fell  mute  great  Orpheus'  matchless  lyre, 
For  he  to  Hades  with  his  soul  on  fire 
Pursued  his  long-loved  one  to  set  her  free. 

At  every  pause  of  his  entreaties  he 

So  moved  the  Shades  with  music's  deep  desire, 
That  Pluto,  yielding,  oped  the  portals  dire, 
And  gave  her  back  to  him  and  liberty. 

As  from  that  dreadful  place  his  steps  did  wind, 
With  blissful  heart  she  followed  close  behind, 
While  he,  as  was  enjoined,  gazed  still  ahead ; 

At  last  he  turned,  with  love's  forgetful  sense, 

For  just  one  look,  to  find  her  vanished  thence  — 
Again  companioned  with  the  hopeless  dead. 


NARCISSUS 


Away  from  Echo's  plaint  Narcissus  led 

His  steps  where  lay  a  moss-engirdled  pool, 
And  wearied  stooped  to  taste  its  waters  cool;  — 
Then  fell  astonished  as  he  were  struck  dead. 

At  last  he  gazed ;  then  tried  to  clasp  the  head 
And  kiss  the  face  so  strangely  beautiful ; 
Yet  he  but  marred  the  mirror's  waveless  lull, 
And  wept  to  find  his  radiant  vision  fled. 

No  food  he  sought  nor  sleep  ;  to  gaze  and  sue, 

Burned  by  the   noonday   sun  and   drenched   with 

dew, 
Were  his  alone  until  his  parting  breath. 

The  nymph  he  scorned  with  kindly  hand  did  strew 
Sweet  grass  and  bloom  upon  his  bed  of  death, 
And  on  the  spot  a  flower  immortal  grew. 


In   Memoriam 


' '  Thou  hadst  not  slept  an  hour  of  that  last  sleep 
When  my  soul  woke  to  know  what  it  had  lost, 
And  met  the  shining  face  of  what  thou  wast, 
Whom  time  can  touch  no  more,  nor  earth  can  keep.'* 

The  Inverted  Torch. — EDITH  M.  THOMAS. 


"Shadows  upon  the  wall, 

Wavering  shadows  and  gray  ; 
Lonely,  heartsick,  I  reach  my  hand  in  the  dark 
For  the  hand  that  has  gone  away." 

The  Dead.  —  ELLA   HIGGINSON. 


IN    MEMORY   OF   HELEN   STANFORD 
TAYLOR 

June  3,    1900 


Oh,  give  me  words  all  steeped  in  tears, 
And  heated  in  the  hottest  fire 

My  heart  has  known  in  all  its  years, 
To  body  forth  my  griePs  desire ; 

To  speak  of  her  who  was  to  me 
A  vision  of  celestial  light, 

But  whom  I  can  no  longer  see 

No  matter  where  I  strain  my  sight. 


I 


Can  this  be  day  ?     The  stars  have  fled ; 
Dawn's  banners  brighten  overhead; 
The  wagons  roll  along  the  street, 
And  men  go  by  with  hastening  feet ;  — 
Ah,  yes,  it  must  be  day. 

But  come  and  see  where  cold  she  lies, 
Death's  fingers  on  her  once-bright  eyes  ; 
With  pallid  lips  that  cannot  stir; 
The  aching  mother  bent  o'er  her;  — 
Ah,  no,  it  is  not  day. 


II 


I  cannot  deem  that  she  is  dead ; 
I  cannot  think  that  she  has  fled 

Forevermore  from  me ; 
For  in  the  midst  of  nightly  things 
There  is  a  something  subtile  brings 

Her  form  again  to  me. 


T 


Ill 


A  bird  of  strange  and  brilliant  hue 

With  powerless  wing  was  fain  to  fly ; 

But  as  my  heart  its  fate  did  rue, 

A  sudden  wind  from  out  the  sky 

Swept  it  far  up  until  it  seemed 

The  strength  had  come  its  soul  had  dreamed. 


IV 


How  bloomed  round  her  the  flowers  of  nurturing  care, 
How  breathed  on  her  Home's  kindliest  summer-air, 
How  softly  smooth  her  daily  paths  were  made, 
From  that  sweet  moment  Life  first  gave  her  breath 
Until  that  bitter  time  her  dear  head  laid 
Its  lilied  loveliness  in  lap  of  Death ! 


My  heart  was  kept  with  fear  astir 
Lest  lightest  harm  might  come  to  her  ; 
My  lips  could  not  have  dared  to  speak 
One  word  to  pale  her  bloomy  cheek. 

But  now  my  fears  are  gathered  up 
In  griefs  exhaustless  wormwood-cup, 
And  though  I  spoke  in  loudest  tone, 
Her  cheek  no  paler  hue  could  own. 


• *'  '  » . 

•**•,•  •      * 

.'••'""'.    *• 


33 


VI 


In  mystery's  face  I  did  but  peer 
When  she  my  heart  with  love  did  fill. 
And  yet  her  pulseless  beauty  here 
Breeds  mystery  which  is  greater  still. 


34 


VII 

Those  dainty  fingers,  how  they  swept 
The  keys  until  the  music  leapt 

With  bounding,  heartsome  thrill; 
But  now  as  on  her  breast  they  lie, 
They  from  Death's  organ  wring  a  cry 

Than  polar  ice  more  chill. 


/->      f 


n 


m  A 
.A 
A- 


35 


••*,' 


v;« 

-m 


VIII 

From  out  a  wood  where  waters  ran 

As  only  joyful  waters  can, 

Where  flower  and  tree  with  rapture  heard 

The  ecstasy  of  many  a  bird, 

And  in  the  air  was  such  a  lull 

That  everything  of  peace  seemed  full, 

I  sudden  came  upon  a  cave 

With  brooding  gloom  as  of  the  grave, 

And  peering  in  the  darksome  nave, 

Awe-struck  I  saw  upon  a  stone 

A  mother  bowed  in  grief  alone. 


36 


IX 

Oh,  mournful  joy  to  call  to  mind 
What  often  comes  at  memory's  beck : 
To  see  around  each  other's  neck, 
Like  honeysuckles  intertwined, 
The  arms  of  mother  and  of  her 
Whom  Death  forbids  dear  Love  to  stir. 


37 


A  music  fell  upon  mine  ear 
As  though  from  some  celestial  sphere, 
Then  sudden  ceased,  and  discord's  clang 
Throughout  my  heart  remorseless  rang. 
Alas  !  what  awful  woe 
In  human  heart  may  grow  !  — 
What  dreadful  thought  to  stab  a  man, 
That  Heaven  from  Hell  is  but  a  span ! 


XI 

Alone  I  lay  on  desert  sands, 
No  water  near  my  palsied  hands, 
Above  me  vultures*  ravening  bills, 
And  in  my  heart  the  grief  that  kills. 

'Twas  but  a  dream,  as  well  you  say, 
And  as  a  dream,  has  passed  away ; 
Then  let  us  kneel  beside  her  bier 
And  beg  the  faith  that  casts  out  fear. 


39 


XII 

'     ..-•".. 

How  far  I've  come  since  I  was  born 
To  be  thus  stricken  and  forlorn  ; 
To  halt  beside  Life's  rugged  road 
And  pray  for  strength  to  bear  my  load. 


40 


XIII 

An  angel  met  me  in  the  wood 
And  led  me  where  her  sister  stood ; 
Then  each  one  kissed  me  on  the  cheek, 
But  not  a  word  did  either  speak. 
They  vanished,  but  I  knew  that  they 
Had  brought  me  flower  of  peace  that  day. 


XIV 


The  fog  rolls  in  as  it  has  rolled 
For  years  that  never  can  be  told, 
And  all  the  sky  is  dull  and  gray 
As  in  the  far-off,  olden  day ; 

And  hearts  still  ache 

Until  they  break, 
As  it  has  been  since  Death  held  sway, 

But  though  the  fog  be  deeper  rolled 
The  sun's  above  it  as  of  old ; 
No  sky  can  be  so  dull  and  gray 
But  that  the  blue  will  have  its  way ; 

And  hearts  will  wake 

For  love's  dear  sake, 
As  it  has  been  since  Life  held  sway. 


XV 

A  woman,  great  of  form  and  face, 
Who  seemed  to  be  of  Sorrow's  race, 
Led  me  away  from  sun-bright  air, 
And  from  the  trees  and  blossoms  fair, 
To  lonely  depth  of  solemn  wood 
Where  but  the  sombre  cypress  stood. 

She  gently  breathed  a  wordless  prayer, 
Then  left  me  strangely  dreaming  there ; 
And  when  I  waked,  a  newer  grace 
Was  round  me  as  with  love's  embrace, 
And  forth  I  went  in  heartened  mood 
Beneath  the  spell  of  chastening' s  good. 


43 


XVI 

What  note  is  this  which  sweeps 
Along  the  mountain  steeps, 
Where  neither  flower  nor  tree 
Nor  verdured  thing  can  be  ? 

'  Tis  Life's  great  trumpet  blown 
By  lips  that  heroes  own : 
"The  death-strewn  Past  is  gone  — 
The  Present's  yours;  —  march  on!" 


44 


XVII 

The  world  overflows  its  cup  of  woe, 
Each  heart  has  felt  the  knife  of  pain ; 
But  I  would  have  my  soul  to  know 
That  all  is  best,  that  God  doth  reign. 


45 


O  Grief  that  is  darker  than  night ! 
O  Sympathy  brighter  than  light  ! 
Mysterious  twins,  I  have  heard 
Your  awfullest,  kindliest  word. 


TO  PROFESSOR  AND  MRS.  PUTZKER  ON 
THE  DEATH  AT  MANILA  OF  THEIR 
SON  BRUNO  LANE  PUTZKER 

'       -5» 

\ 

February   12,    1899 

Beneath  Manila's  far,  relentless  skies 

Your  lovely,  hero-hearted  boy  lies  dead, 
Who  from  your  nurturing  arms  so  lately  sped 
To  serve  his  country's  flag  in  great  emprise ; 

And  as  mine  ear  is  saddened  with  your  cries 

Which  spring  from  hearts  as  yet  uncomforted, 
With  freshened  pain  I  hear  death's  trumpet  dread 
Bid  sorrow's  legions  troop  before  mine  eyes. 

For  my  dear  one  was  lost  in  battle,  too  — 

Not  where  great  War  decrees  tremendous  doom, 
But  where  he  strove  beyond  his  strength  to  bear ; 

And  may  these  twain,  to  duty  here  so  true, 

Roam  free  the  asphodelian  fields  of  bloom, 
No  more  to  taste  the  marah  of  despair. 


47 


IN    MEMORY   OF   GEORGE   BONNY 

January  4,  1900 

You  that  loved  him,  gather  here 
Round  his  bier. 

Let  the  roses  heaping  rest 
On  his  breast. 

In  his  heart  their  sweets  were  hived 
While  he  lived, 

And  he  might  unquiet  be 
If  that  we 

Did  not  give  his  bed  of  death 
Their  dear  breath. 

Mid  their  fragrance  let  us  say, 
As  we  pray, 

How  he  nursed  a  patient  mood 
Filled  with  good  — 

Good  that  flowed  without  an  end 
To  his  friend ; 

How,  whatever  stress  might  be, 
Equal  he ; 


48 


How  with  every  breath  he  drew 
He  was  true ; 

How  he  charmed  us  with  his  word, 
As  we  heard 

Stingless  wit  and  ready  sense 

Flowing:  thence ; 

• .  .      •  :V-:^ 
How  he  walked  affection's  ways 

All  his  days ; 

And  how  Beauty's  conquering  art 
Held  his  heart, 

Till  he  seemed  her  very  child 
Undefiled. 

Gather  then  with  roses  here 
Round  his  bier, 

And  in  heaps  upon  his  breast 
Let  them  rest. 


49 


»*"«"   ' '    2   H  ***"*• 


In   Meditation 


"The  soul, 

Forever  and  forever  —  longer  than  soil  is  brown  and  solid  —  longer  than 
water  ebbs  and  flows.'*  WALT  WHITMAN. 

"What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal." 

BYRON'S  CHILDE  HAROLD. 


SCORN  NOT  THE  SINGER 


Scorn  not  the  singer  though  his  tremulous  lay 
Ring  not  along  the  arches  of  the  sky. 
Content  the  daisy's  lowly  sweets  to  try 
As  o'er  the  mead  it  wings  its  modest  way ; 

For  nectar-laden  it  may  chance  to  stray 

Near  some  lone  heart  that  beats  to  hopeless  cry, 
And  yielding  sweetness  as  it  passes  by 
Bid  Promise  point  to  new,  rewardful  day. 

O  Poesy,  thou  mightiest  of  the  Nine, 

Now  more  than  ever  do  we  need  the  aid 
Of  e'en  the  humblest  votary  of  thine ; — 

Now  when,  as  old  ideals  begin  to  fade, 

In  stress  of  doubt  we  question  the  divine 
And  mid  its  splendors  dare  to  be  afraid. 


53 


MY   SONNET   PRISON 


Full  oftentimes  my  friends  have  said  to  me : 

"  Give  o'er  the  sonnet,  since  thou  dost  but  lie 
At  leaden  length  beneath  its  narrow  sky  — 
A  slave  imprisoned  when  thou  mightst  be  free. 

Though  true  it  is  the  masters  loved  by  thee 

Have  in  that  cage  sung  strains  that  cannot  die, 
Yet  they  were  those  who  could  all  bonds  defy, 
And  soar  at  will  in  Art's  immensity. " 

Then  I  to  them :  "  No  eagle's  wings  are  mine, 
That  tempt  the  vastness  of  immortal  song, 
To  rest  at  last  on  fame-encrowned  years. 

Leave  me  my  prison  bars,  to  me  divine, 

Where  with  the  Muse  I  have  communed  so  long, 
And  on  her  breast  have  shed  memorial  tears/' 


54 


EDELWEISS 


"  To-morrow  from  Zermatt  we'll  see  the  grand, 
Far  Theodule  and  soaring  Matterhorn ; 
And  then,  O  joy !  as  though  for  us  just  born, 
In  luring  nook  the  Edelweiss  will  stand." 

The  morrow's  breeze  the  peak  and  glacier  fanned, 

And  fanned  the  form  of  her  that  crushed  and  torn 
Lay  like  uprooted  lily  pale  and  lorn, 
The  fatal  Edelweiss  within  her  hand. 

Her  body  fouled  with  stains  they  bore  far  up 
From  precipice's  foot  to  church's  arms, 
And  would  have  earthed  it  'neath  memorial  stone ; 

But  vain  the  offer  of  this  final  cup : 

For  she  who  fled  the  city's  roars  and  harms 
Now  found  that  even  in  death  it  claimed  its  own. 


55 


UNACCOM  PUSHED 


He  parcelled  off  from  Beauty's  vast  demesne 
One  little  spot  that  seemed  so  very  fair, 
He  thought  his  soul  might  rest  securely  there, 
Triumphant  in  a  spring  of  fadeless  green  ; 

And  in  the  distance  looming  clear  were  seen 

Great  towers  that  wooed  such  empyreal  air, 
They  mocked  alike  man's  ravage  and  his  care, 
Beaming  like  stars  eternally  serene. 

Then  came  the  Muse  and  whispered  in  his  ear 
Seductive  sweetnesses  that  so  beguiled, 
He  dared  a  tower  of  his  own  to  rear ; 

But  scarce  one  dawn  beheld  it,  when  a  wild 

Wind  smote  it,  and  in  night  that  knew  no  gleam 
It  crashed  to  fragments  as  a  shattered  dream. 


DANTE   AND    BEATRICE 

TO    A.    S.    T. 

O  world-compelling  Dante,  who  the  sea 

Of  Poesy  so  stirred  from  shore  to  shore, 
That  even  as  yet  its  surging  thunders  roar 
In  tones  undying  as  eternity ; 

With  master  spirit  so  supremely  free 

It  scorned  all  bonds  and  swept  through  every  lore, 
On  wisdom's  pinions  at  the  last  to  soar 
To  empyreal  world  of  ecstasy ! 

The  crown  of  sorrows  with  its  thorns  was  thine ; 
But  in  thy  bosom  blazed  the  fire  divine 
That  lit  thy  track  to  Paradise  from  Hell ; 

And  she  who  gendered  its  immortal  light 

Has  starred  forevermore  the  matchless  might  — 
Disputeless  miracle  —  of  woman's  spell. 


57 


TO  THE  OWL  THAT  ALIGHTED  ABOVE 
THE  PICTURE  OF  ATHENS  HUNG  IN 
ONE  OF  THE  LECTURE  HALLS  OF 
RUTGERS  COLLEGE 

TO  PROFESSOR  JACOB  COOPER 

O  thou,  wise  bird  Athene  made  her  own, 

Did  instinct's  pulses  beat  within  thy  breast 
When  in  this  college  hall  thy  wings  found  rest 
Above  the  picture  of  her  matchless  throne  ? 

Or  wast  thou  here  at  favoring  moment  blown 
By  breeze  favonian,  to  remind  us  lest 
Our  faith  in  old  ideals,  so  long  professed, 
Be  like  the  Parthenon's  columns — overthrown? 

It  matters  not ;  we  take  thee  as  thou  art, 

And  house  thee  safe  and  warm  in  every  heart, 
For  ne'er  before  was  spectacle  like  this ; 

And  now  we  feel  the  centuries  backward  rolled, 
While  in  supernal  splendor  as  of  old 
Upsoars  the  temple-crowned  Acropolis. 

Published  in  The  Indtftndtnt  (N.  Y.)  May  26,  1900. 


MAN'S   HERITAGE 

TO    REV.  HORATIO    STEBBINS 

Immortal  Man,  what  treasure  falls  to  thee!  — 

The  ages  million-yeared  whose  life-blood  still 
Flows  through  the  channels  of  thy  good  and  ill 
As  will  thine  own  through  those  that  are  to  be ; 

The  prisoned  secrets  yearning  to  be  free ; 

The  infinite-sounding  harmonies  that  fill 

All  space  and  being ;  and  that  supremest  Will 

Which  weaves  the  web  of  life's  great  mystery. 

Dig  where  thou  wilt  and  thou  shalt  jewels  find, 
As  will  thy  brother  in  no  less  degree 
Who  searches  centuries  hence  with  deeper  mind ; 

For  thou  art  ruled  by  such  divine  decree, 

And  in  the  Eternal's  breast  art  so  enshrined, 
Thy  wealth  can  feel  no  bound's  extremity. 


59 


MYSTERY 


What  notes  of  mystery  in  our  being  sound !  — 
The  unimaginable  depths  of  space; 
The  multitudinous  worlds  in  pauseless  race 
Toward  far-off  goals  beyond  all  dreaming' s  bound; 

This  orb  of  ours  whereon  man  sits  encrowned 
A  God  and  Devil  —  void  of  any  place 
Where  Life  and  Death  meet  not  in  fierce  embrace 
To  what  deep  purpose  thought  has  never  found. 

There  is  no  great  or  small :  this  grain  of  sand 
Its  secret  holds,  as  does  the  shaping  hand 
Which  fast  cements  it  in  the  building's  wall ; 

And  this  vain  butterfly,  that  only  can 
In  winged  rapture  hasten  to  its  fall, 
Mysterious  is  as  thy  great  soul,  O  Man ! 


60 


.,•  /•  i   ' 

NEAR    MIDNIGHT   OF    DECEMBER 
THIRTY-FIRST,    1899 


In  retrospective  dream  I  watch  my  fire, 

Erst  bright  with  flame,  to  embers  now  decline, 
As  thee,  once  young  and  lusty  Ninety-nine, 
Within  the  arms  of  Time  I  see  expire. 

And  as  thou  sink'st  to  death,  War's  clamorings  dire 

More  horrent  scream  than  when  life  first  was  thine, 
While  man  now  drinks  his  brother's  blood  for  wine 
With  bestial,  unappeasable  desire. 

Thou  seem'st  of  evil  wrought,  but  so  did  they 

Thy  vanished  kin ;  yet  man  still  holds  his  way 
Through  all  the  maze  and  tangle  of  despair ; 

Still  Love  uprears  her  palaces  divine ; 

No  deed's  to  do  but  finds  some  arm  to  dare, 
And  God  still  lets  His  stars  in  glory  shine. 


61 


INVOCATION 


As  kind  as  thou  hast  been  to  me,  O  Sleep, 

Since  first  as  friends  we  met,  be  kinder  now: 
Lay  thy  most  velvet  touch  upon  my  brow, 
And  in  thy  syrups  all  my  being  steep ; 

If  there  be  hushful  chamber  far  and  deep 
Where  thou  alone  oblivion  dost  allow, 
Bear  me  to  it,  sweet  one,  and  then  do  thou 
Still  in  thine  arms  my  wearied  senses  keep. 

Let  not  one  dream  thy  watchful  guard  break  through, 
To  mar  the  blessedness  of  such  repose, 
Or  tempt  me  forth  to  mingle  more  with  men. 

At  times  such  horrors  rise  before  the  view 
That  life  seems  raging  in  a  hell  of  woes, 
With  earth  scarce  better  than  a  slaughter-pen. 
,<,M,   viaitt  n;  ttrtc  *iH  efcr!  Hit*  boO 


62 


COMPENSATION 

TO    P.    C.    L. 

inimitably  vast  the  ocean  rolls 

Before  me  as  its  wreck-strewn  shore  I  tread, 
And  in  its  depths  I  view  the  unnumbered  dead 
That  stare  for  aye  at  unaccomplished  goals. 

So,  round  the  world  my  sorrowing  sight  controls 
The  sea  of  life,  with  waves  from  slaughter  red, 
That  heave  forevermore  above  the  bed 
Where  lie  the  hopes  and  aims  of  myriad  souls. 

Yet  in  that  ocean's  breast  the  pulses  beat, 

To  send  rich  blood  through  every  country's  veins, 
Bespeaking  services  of  mutual  good  ; 

And  in  this  sea  Joy  still  the  heart  constrains ; 

Here  Duty's  jewels  are ;  and  here  Love's  seat, 
Divine  as  that  which  over  all  doth  brood. 


CONCORD 

c 

TO    E.    D.    T.    AND     H.    H.    T. 

This  graceful  blade  of  springing  grass  behold, 

And  this  poor,  stolid  weed  that  droops  near  by, 

H  • 

Then  range  once  more  with  wonder-ravished  eye 
O'er  worlds    on   worlds    through   space's  vastness 
rolled ; 

Look  on  this  marvellous  tree  whose  years  untold 
Still  mock  at  death,  where,  as  we  dreaming  lie, 
Dear  Memory  breathes  her  softly-saddened  sigh 
On  past-gone  days  of  purple  and  of  gold. 

O  grass  and  weed !     O  rolling  suns  and  tree  ! 
O  immemorial  dreams  so  bitter-sweet ! 
Kin  each  to  all  in  God's  immensity ; 

In  tiniest  speck  the  world-force  is  complete, 
And  e'en  the  Universe  itself  doth  beat 
In  tune  to  one  eternal  harmony. 


• 
I 


WORK   AND   SERVICE 

Through  work  and  service  thou  mayst  see 
The  inmost  heart  of  liberty. 
And  make  thy  sum  of  days  to  be 
One  fused  organic  harmony. 


CONSUMMATION 

Strength  to  resist  temptation's  subtlest  bait, 
Unquailing  fortitude  mid  every  fate, 
Laborious  zeal  to  do  the  task  at  hand, 
With  Love  and  Faith  in  unrestrained  command; 
If  thou  hast  them,  through  all  the  seas  of  stress 
Thy  soul  shall  reach  the  port  of  blessedness. 


J.  w. 

His  cottage  looks  in  quiet  down 
Upon  the  far,  outspreading  town, 
Whose  joys  and  woes  with  spirit  art 
Sing  in  the  palace  of  his  heart. 


SPRING 

'.'         '    *,c>  *     "  '  J  v  /•• 

TO    HELEN 

"•'"'...  v  -  '.  j  •    < 

Balm-breathing  Spring  trips  o'er  the  hills 
To  music  of  the  gladsome  rills, 
And  every  bud  is  stirred, 
As  now  the  mating  bird 
The  fragrant  air  with  throated  rapture  fills. 

And  as  we  walked,  sweet  daughter  mine, 
This  morn  beneath  Spring's  dewy  sign, 
I  heard  thy  budding  heart 
Perform  its  joyful  part  — 
Harmonious  in  that  symphony  divine. 


ON   THE   RUBICON 

July  24,   1900 

•  v          •  . 

The  merry  songsters'  minstrelsy, 
The  river  singing  ceaselessly, 
My  two  boys  tramping  by  my  side, 
While  round  us  rose  the  summer's  tide. 


66 


THE  AXE 

After  Henri  de  Re*gnier 

Listen.     The  icy  wind  on  roadway's  pebbles  here 
Makes  slowly,  surely  sharp  —  workman  no  eye  can  see  — 
Its  norther's  bills  and  scythes  as  keen  as  steel  can  be. 
Listen.     Time's  footfall  sounds  upon  the  cross-road  drear. 

Listen.     Afar  e'en  now  the  flowers  are  stripped  and  sere ; 
The  neighboring  mead's  a-cold;  and  this  majestic  tree 
At  breath  so  murderous  shakes  and  shudders  fearsomely ; 
While  trickles  drop  by  drop  its  Dryad's  life-blood  dear. 

The  woodmen,  binding  bark  and  fagots,  wend  their  way 
Alas  !  thy  towering  stature  and  thy  strength  to  slay ; 
Thy  shade  has  marked  the  hour  for  thee  to  be  laid  low ; 

But  when  some  autumn  eve  is  proud  to  see  thee  die, 
Amid  thy  golden  limbs  that  all  dismembered  lie, 
Then  calmly,  grandly  fall  beneath  the  axe's  blow. 


67 


;•*:    •;; 

:\V      .  .  •  .        '  .      .„  ..  <          '.    •        \  f  V--    «r 

THE    BROOK 
* 

After  Theophile   Gautier 

,  •    .       >. '  i  •/  -\  %    -  .'••    .   . 

»     ~  '  •  •  *  .  „   '  „ 

Between  two  stones,  in  shady  nook, 
From  spring  that  oozes  near  a  lake, 
In  merriest  humor  runs  a  brook 
As  though  some  far-off  goal  to  make. 

•*'          ,*  •     '  s         f    '  •"'•''."'  •'    <"         f      •  ~  v    j 

It  murmurs:  Oh,  what  joy  is  mine! 
Below  the  ground  what  night  to  see ! 
And  now  my  banks  with  verdure  shine, 

While  skies  admire  themselves  in  me. 

^  *    *' 

The  azure  myosotis  cries 

To  me,  Forget  me  not,  I  pray ! 

I  feel  the  tails  of  dragon-flies 

My  bosom  scratch  in  sportive  play; 

From  out  my  cup  the  bird  drinks  free;— ^  M^y* 
And  after  winding  far,  who  knows 
But  that  the  vales,  rocks,  towers  will  be 
Bathed  by  my  wave  that  grandly  flows  ? 

,  I      ,      t  ,        -'     I  *       *  ''•*,*•  .  'r  ,  *    .  * 

I  shall  embroider  with  my  spume 
Stone  bridge  and  quay's  granitic  wall, 
And  bear  great  steamers  as  they  fume 
Toward  boundless  ocean,  end  of  all. 

68 


Thus  talks  the  brook  in  chattering  craze ; 

In  it  a  hundred  projects  grow  ; 

Like  water  boiling  in  a  vase 

No  self-restraint  its  soul  can  know. 

But  tomb  and  cradle  stand  anear ; 
The  giant  dies  a  pygmy  small : 
To  trouble  born,  the  brook  falls  sheer 
Into  the  lake  that  drinks  it  all. 


.  \ 


\ 


.'     s   . 


TO  WILLIAM  KEITH  ON  THE  OCCASION 
OF  HIS  PAINTING,  ON  HIS  SIXTIETH 
BIRTHDAY,  A  PICTURE  ENTITLED 
"THE  LAST  GLEAM" 


Suffused  with  golden  hue  thy  landscape  lies 

Where  restful  oaks  forbid  their  leaves  to  stir, 

And  where,  mid  thoughts  of  days  no  time  can  blur, 

I  see  thy  fruitful  art  still  upward  rise. 

For  many  a  year,  indomitably  wise, 

Thou  hast  of  nature  been  interpreter, 

Nor  hast  thou  needed  but  thy  soul's  own  spur 

To  paint  such  day  as  on  this  canvas  dies  — 

Not  dies,  but  lives :  for  its  last  gleaming  ray 

Shall  light  these  sheep  upon  their  homeward  way 
Long  after  thy  great  heart  can  beat  no  more; 

And  while  the  living  shepherds  pass  away, 
This  one  of  thine  in  all  his  radiant  store 
Shall  help  to  wreathe  thee  with  undying  bay. 


70 


SUGGESTED  BY  LOOKING  AT  A  PICTURE 
PAINTED  BY  WILLIAM  KEITH  EN- 
TITLED "THE  MOUNTAIN" 


TO   J.    W, 


What  wrecks  of  Time  and  Storm  are  crumbling  here ! 
The  rocks  that  seemed  eternal  shattered  lie, 
And  pines  that  sang  their  glorias  to  the  sky 
In  mute  dismemberment  stretch  prone  and  drear. 

Beneath  this  gloomful  shade,  wide-spreading  near. 
What  hidden  things  in  loneliness  may  sigh, 
What  spirits  of  the  Past  may  wander  by, 
Their  cheeks  bedewed  with  immemorial  tear ! 

But  look  beyond :  the  towering  summits  glow 
With  grand  magnificence  of  dazzling  light, 
That  tints  with  rainbow  hues  their  bosomed  snow ; 

And  as  I  gaze,  with  secret,  magic  might 

My  soul  seems  lifted  from  the  glooms  below 
To  faiths  that  blaze  immaculately  bright. 


SUGGESTED  ON  LOOKING  AT  A  PICTURE 
PAINTED  BY  WILLIAM  KEITH  EN- 
TITLED  "INTO  THE  MYSTERY" 


The  palpitating  splendors  of  the  West 

In  mystery  tremble  through  the  wood,  as  Day 
With  noiseless  footfall  slowly  steals  away 
To  Night's  star-lighted  palace  and  to  rest. 

Save  where  these  cavaliers  spur  on  with  zest, 
As  if  some  fateful  message  to  convey 
For  leagues  beyond,  all  sounds  of  sad  or  gay 
Lie  stirless  on  the  landscape's  lovely  breast. 

And  should  we  ask  these  horsemen  in  their  pride 
What  word  it  is  they  carry  on  their  ride, 
And  what  dear  heart  to  hear  it  breathed  would  break, 

They  sure  would  say :     That  word  is  ours  alone ; 
To  Dreamland  only  is  that  loved  one  known, 
Yet  we  shall  ride  forever  for  her  sake. 


72 


s 


ON  A  PICTURE  PAINTED  BY  THE  POET, 
LLOYD  MIFFLIN,  ENTITLED  "A  QUIET 
HOUR" 


With  splendor's  pageantry  the  lordly  day 

Is  marching  to  its  death:  for  now  the  sun 
Has  o'er  the  battling  clouds  such  victory  won, 
He  floods  the  west  with  glory-flaming  ray. 

His  foes  retire,  while  'neath  his  regal  sway 
The  placid  river,  all  its  day's  frets  done, 
Dreams  of  the  nearing  stars,  and  joys  to  run 
With  vesper  music  on  its  radiant  way. 

Within  the  boat,  that  lightly  glides  along 

As  though  'twere  leaf  from  neighboring  islet  blown, 
An  idle  fisher  plies  an  idle  oar. 

Here  Quiet  broods  with  all  her  lovely  throng, 

And  here  in  them  my  torn  heart  finds  its  own, 
And  for  a  moment  hopes  to  grieve  no  more. 


73 

J  ••  "/       / 


:;>••::  •.::•- 


VOWELS 

After  Arthur  Rimbaud 

Vowels,  A  black,  E  white,  I  red,  U  green,  O  blue, 
Some  day  I'll  tell  your  hidden  births  in  cunning  wise. 
A,  bodice  black  and  shaggy  formed  of  brilliant  flies 
Enclosing  stench's  foul,  intolerable  crew, 

Gulfs  darkness  ;  E,  white  tents,  the  fleecy  mists  of  skies, 
Proud  glacier's  lance,  blonde  kings,  tremors  that  umbels 

woo ; 

I,  purples,  blood  spat  out,  smile  of  dear  lips  that  sue 
When  passion  shakes  the  soul  or  sweet  repentance  sighs  ; 

U,  cycles,  emerald  seas  with  tremulous  waves  divine ; 
Peace  of  the  meadow's  breast,  peace  of  each  wrinkled  line 
That  on  great,  studious  faces  magically  lies ; 

O,  clarion's  voice  supreme,  with  stridors  loud  and  strange, 
Hushed  silences  the  worlds  and  angels  ever  range ; 
O,  the  Omega,  ray  of  her  deep  violet  eyes. 


74 


ARTEMIS 

After  Gerard  de  Nerval 

'  •*          €•"•••     •  '   '''  Jt-  ' '•  f  IT  ••       in  '      '-J    '^f    '•""*•* 

The  Thirteenth  comes  again  .  .  .  Yet  still  the  first  is  here ; 

Alway  the  sole  dear  one,  —  or  only  hour  for  me : 
For  art  thou,  Queen,  the  first  or  last  one  to  appear  ? 
Art  thou,  King,  lover  sole,  or  last  that  is  to  be  ? 

Love  them  who  loved  you  well  from  cradle  to  the  bier ; 
She  whom  I  loved  alone  still  loves  me  tenderly  ; 
'Tis  death — or  she  that's  dead  .  .  .  O  joy!     O  agony  ! 
The  rose  she  holds,  ah,  that's  the  hollyhock  so  dear. 

St.  Neapolitan,  with  hands  whence  flames  arise ; 
Flower  of  St.  Gudule  —  thou  violet-hearted  rose: 
Hast  thou  now  found  thy  cross  in  desert  of  the  skies  ? 

White  roses,  fall !    You  mock  our  Gods  in  foulest  wise ; 
Fall,  ye  white  phantoms,  down  from  out  your  heaven  that 

glows : 
— The  Saint  of  the  abyss  is  holier  to  mine  eyes  ! 


75 


GOLDEN  VERSES 

After  Gerard  de  Nerval 

Free-thinking  Man !  believest  that  thy  thought  alone 
Pervades  this   world  where  life  in   everything  streams 

bright  ? 

The  forces  in  thy  hand  are  at  thy  freedom's  might, 
But  of  thy  counsels  nought  the  Universe  has  known. 

A  spirit  stirring  free  the  beast  can  call  his  own  ; 
Each  flower's  a  soul  by  Nature  brought  to  being's  light ; 
In  Love's  deep  mystery  e'en  the  metal  is  bedight ; 
All  feel,  and  in  thy  breast  each  rears  puissant  throne. 

Fear  thou,  in  darksome  wall,  an  eye  that  watches  thee  ! 
In  matter's  self  a  voice  incorporate  with  it  cries  .  .  . 
Oh,  never  be  it  raised  to  serve  impiety  ! 

In  some  obscure  one  oft  a  God  all  hidden  lies ; 
And  like  the  nascent  eye  which  veiling  lids  enclose, 
Beneath  its  shell  of  stone  a  pure,  sweet  spirit  grows. 

NOTE.  — The  title  of  this  sonnet  is  "  Vers  Dores,"  by  which,  I 
venture  to  suggest,  the  poet  intends  to  characterize  the  verse  as  gnomic 
in  contradistinction  to  his  symbolic,  imaginative  verse.  The  difference 
is  plainly  indicated  by  comparing  his  "Artemis"  with  this  sonnet.  In 
Littre\  we  find  this :  "  Vers  d'or  ou  vers  dore's,  vers  gnomiques  attri- 
bues  a  Pythagore."  The  French  text  from  which  this  version  was 
made,  as  well  as  that  from  which  the  versions  were  made  of  "  Artemis  " 
and  "Vowels,"  was  taken  from  Mr.  Arthur  Symons'  very  interesting 
volume  entitled  "The  Symbolist  Movement  in  Literature." 

76 


TO    SHELLEY 

Bright  seraph  of  the  cloud  and  air, 

Couldst  thou  have  left  thine  eyry  there, 

And  felt  ,the  earth  beneath  thy  feet 

Till  life  for  thee  was  all  complete ; 

Or  had  the  waves  not  swept  thee  down 

Thou  wouldst  have  worn  still  richer  crown ; 

But  why  regret  ?  —  thy  lyric  lay 

Still  wings  its  rapturing,  skyey  way, 

While  that  brute  world  which  gave  thee  blows 

Now  on  thy  tomb  Love's  roses  throws. 


RUDYARD    KIPLING 

'Tis  not  for  beauty  that  to  him  we  go, 

Nor  for  the  gilded  dust  of  by-gone  days ; 

But  for  the  forceful,  unimpeded  flow 

Of  hottest  blood  that  fills  unwonted  ways ; 

For  strifes  and  loves,  for  pleasures  and  for  pains, 

That  roll  tumultuous  in  the  Present's  veins. 


77 


AT   EDWIN    MARKHAM'S   PRIVATE 
RECITAL 

May  5,   1899 

Of  old,  when  wassail  held  its  roisterous  way 

Amid  the  warriors  fresh  from  lust  and  gore, 

For  them  the  Minstrel  swept  his  harp-strings  o'er, 

And  loudly  sang  his  rudely-fashioned  lay ; 

But  now,  in  pauses  of  the  violin's  play, 

The  Poet  reads  from  out  his  harvest  store, 
To  those  who  thirst  for  spirit-wakening  lore, 
His  moving  numbers  till  with  him  they  pray  — 

Pray  to  be  " kind  and  patient  as  a  tree;" 

Pray  for  a  spirit  which,  while  cc  propt  with  power," 
Shall  ever  be  "  as  simple  as  a  flower ; " 

Pray  that  the  Christ  in  all  men's  hearts  may  be, 
So  that  their  cruelties  and  greeds  shall  fall 
Before  dear  Love  triumphant  over  all. 


7» 


W 


TO   PROFESSOR   WILLIAM    MACEWEN    OF 
GLASGOW   UNIVERSITY,   SCOTLAND 

(WRITTEN  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  HIS  DELIVERY  OF  THE 
FIRST  COURSE  OF  LANE  MEDICAL  LECTURES  AT 
COOPER  MEDICAL  COLLEGE,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  IN 
SEPTEMBER,  1896) 

Hail,  and  all  hail,  thou  glorious  soul 

From  over  seas ! 
Not  often  do  our  fates  control 

Such  days  as  these  — 
Days  that  are  filled  with  stirring  thought 
From  your  overflowing  treasure  caught. 

And  all  the  more  we  press  your  hand 

In  welcome  here, 
For  does  not  every  heart  expand 

In  Burns's  year?  — 

The  hundredth  since  he  laid  him  down 
With  Love's  and  Fame's  immortal  crown ;  — 

Expand  at  least  to  him  who  brings 

From  Scotia's  strand, 
On  Science's  all-willing  wings, 

To  this  far  land, 

A  message  that  shall  strike  its  root, 
To  bear  soul-satisfying  fruit. 


79 


i 
I 


What  pulse  does  not  the  faster  beat 

At  Scotia's  name  ? 
In  what  world's  garden  shall  we  greet 

More  flowers  of  fame, 
That  watered  with  perpetual  dews 
Their  freshness  they  can  never  lose  ? 

And  midst  them  all  see  Hunter  raise 

His  lofty  head, 
As  he  the  world  of  life  surveys, 

That  he  might  spread 
Such  splendor  of  achievement  round, 
He  seemed  to  stand  on  magic  ground. 

By  right  divine  he  lives  with  those 

Colossal  few, 
That  on  the  centuries  repose, 

To  there  renew 

From  out  the  crystal  fount  of  Truth 
Their  sempiternal,  glorious  youth. 

He  deemed  that  Law's  great  coil  entwines 

All  forms  and  things  — 
No  more  the  star  which  deathless  shines, 

Than  fly  that  wings 
Its  tiny  self  in  summer's  air, 

To  perish  in  a  moment  there. 

-'  •'  . 

80 


To  him  the  universal  course 

One  harmony  was, 
That  knew  no  weakening  of  its  force, 

Nor  lawless  pause, 
But  ran  to  music's  ordered  play 
Through  nature's  vast,  unending  day. 

His  comprehensive  genius  sought 

All  realms  to  see ; 
In  countless  forms  of  life  he  wrought 

Incessantly, 

Pursuing  with  prodigious  care 
Each  wonder  to  its  secret  lair. 

No  respite  was  for  him,  nor  ease ; 

Toil  piled  on  toil ; 
Labor  was  all  his  soul  could  please, 

And  heaping  spoil 
So  rich  mankind  still  ponders  o'er 
The  varied  richness  of  its  store. 

The  Abbey  took  him  to  her  breast, 

r  j  ,'•*_•***'  * 

And  this  was  well ; 
For  sure  no  more  deserving  guest 

With  her  doth  dwell ; 
But  when  Westminster's  walls  are  gone, 
John  Hunter's  name  shall  still  live  on. 

81 


Old  Scotia's  many  deathless  names 

I  may  not  sing, 
But  this  great  one  so  starlike  flames, 

I  thought  to  bring 
My  meed  at  such  a  time  as  this 
Might  not  be  taken  as  amiss ; 

For  you  are  one  of  those  who  stand 

In  Hunter's  line, 
And  serve  to  make  your  marvellous  land 

So  radiant  shine, 

That  Scotland's  soil  exhaustless  seems 
In  all  that  Science  hopes  or  dreams. 

For  you  the  very  gates  of  life 

Are  opened  wide, 
Wherethrough  the  all  unerring  knife 

May  safely  glide, 
Bearing  upon  its  glittering  edge 
The  boundless  bliss  of  healing's  pledge. 

Even  cranial  walls  oppose  in  vain : 

For  breaking  through, 
You  seize  the  demons  of  the  brain, 

By  faultless  clew, 

And  set  their  tortured  victims  free, 
That  life  and  joy  again  may  be. 

82 


And  we  who  sit  beneath  your  voice, 

And  at  your  feet, 
With  feeling's  deepest  note  rejoice, 

For  here  doth  meet 
All  that  can  keep  our  hearts  in  tune 
To  this  inestimable  boon. 

Hail  and  all  hail,  once  more,  all  hail, 

To  you  and  yours ! 
And  when  you  bend  your  homing  sail 

For  Scotia's  shores, 
Be  sure  you'll  take  across  the  blue 
Remembrance  dear  as  man  e'er  knew. 


ONE   OF   A   KIND 


One  of  the  genial  tribe  of  critics,  who 

Can  run  your  volumed  years  of  labor  through 

Quite  at  a  glance,  and  then  with  lofty  scorn 

Wonder  such  verse  should  ever  have  been  born, 

Deemed  that  I  gave  my  poor,  applausive  word 

Too  freely  to  the  ones  my  heart  preferred, 

And  for  such  promiscuity  he  banned 

My  rhymes  forever  from  the  Muses'  land. 

But  who  except  the  paltriest  soul  would  stay 
The  humblest  hand  that  holds  one  leaf  of  bay, 
Or  close  the  lips  which  tremble  with  the  praise 
Of  any  man  that  walks  unworldly  ways? 
Most  worthy  critic, you  are  safe  enough; 
Next  week  will  be  forgot  your  wretched  stuff, 
While  those  you  prick  with  your  envenomed  pen 
Will  roam  delighted  in  the  hearts  of  men. 


ON  READING  THE  LIFE  OF  HENRY 
GEORGE  WRITTEN  BY  HIS  SON  HEN- 
RY GEORGE,  JR. 


Again  I  hear  his  dauntless  voice, 
Again  my  heart  with  his  is  one, 
Again  I  hear  great  souls  rejoice 
At  deathless  work  supremely  done, 
And  see  once  more  the  millions  stirred 
At  his  incomparable  word. 


FAITH 

Though  man  be  lost  in  maze  of  mystery's  land, 
'Tis  his  to  feel  if  not  to  understand, 
And  hear  the  heartening  voice  that  ever  sings 
Of  all  the  deep  divinity  of  things. 


PASSION-FLOWER 

After  Mme.  la  Comtesse  de  Chambrun 

Behold  the  flower  I  choose, 
Now  that  my  years  decline : 
The  Passion's  flower  some 
Have  called  it,  but  the  name 
Of  flower  of  Life  I  give  as  mine. 

What  matters  it  ?  —  'Tis  all  the  same  : 
For  see,  it  has  the  crown  of  thorns, 
The  ladder  mounting  to  the  sky, 
And  sponge  where  drops  divine  by  turns 
Of  hyssop  and  of  honey  lie. 

The  green  of  hope  within  it  glows, 
Here  sorrow  spreads  her  violet  hue, 
'Tis  joy,  'tis  suffering,  and  it  knows 
The  cradle  and  the  coffin  too. 

'Tis  then  the  flower  I  choose, 
Now  that  my  years  decline ; 
With  tint  like  that  which  pales 
The  day  that  cannot  last, 
'Tis  both  the  Future  and  the  Past. 


NOTE.—  The  original  of  the  exquisite  lyric  from  which  this  version  was  made  was  drawn  to 
ijr  attention  by  Professor  E.  B.  Lamare. 

86 


HER   RESTING   PLACE 


She  rests  not  where  the  bending  flowers 
Can  spill  their  perfume  over  her, 
But  in  the  cells  of  loveliest  flowers 
Her  body's  atoms  once  more  stir, 
To  give  those  blooms  a  brighter  hue 
Than  e'er  before  their  petals  knew ; 
While  in  the  urn  her  ashes  lie, 
White  as  her  soul  that  cannot  die. 


THE   VOYAGE 

O  Youth,  when  setting  sail 

For  golden  lands, 
Careless  what  winds  prevail, 

What  life  demands, 

Such  gorgeous  colors  spread  before  thine  eye, 
Such  rainbows  span  the  far-uplifted  sky, 

When  setting  sail. 

O  Age,  when  furling  sail 

Rrom  fruitless  lands, 
Whose  soul  has  felt  the  bale 

Of  life's  demands, 

Such  dark-hued  colors  spread  before  thine  eye, 
Such  near-descending  clouds  hide  all  the  sky, 

When  furling  sail. 


DESPAIR   NOT 

Despair  not,  for  the  infinite  is  thine  — 

Thine  which  is  part  of  an  eternal  whole 

In  all  its  good  and  evil  so  divine, 

Thou  scarce  canst  know  how  precious  is  thy  soul, 


88 


VOICES 


From  out  the  azure's  depths  serenely  falling, 
At  times  I  hear  celestial  voices  calling, 

And  then  in  spirit-flight 

I  soar  from  murky  night, 
To  seek  their  presence  in  the  fields  of  Light. 

And  by  their  marvellous  tones  the  air  is  shaken, 
Until  I  feel  my  fearsome  soul  awaken 

To  faiths  that  set  it  free ; 

And  calm  as  one  might  be, 
I  dare  to  ask  what  death  can  come  to  me. 


89 


WHITHER 


Ah,  my  Songs  beloved, 
Whither  do  ye  go  ?  — 
O  beloved  Poet, 
That  we  cannot  know. 

Who  can  tell  what  roses 
Will  to-morrow  bloom, 
Or  what  wings  be  folded 
In  relentless  gloom? 

We  abide  the  future, 
As  the  greatest  must  — 
Sure  to  find  the  laurel 
Or  be  less  than  dust. 


90 


